


Flip-Flops

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony)



Series: SPN Writing Prompt Challenge [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pranks, Supernatural Writing Challenge, Supernatural Writing Challenge July 2016, beach, flip flops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony
Summary: For more than a week now, flip-flops have been chained to Dean's banister in the early morning, but by the time he returns from work they are gone. One morning he decides to get up earlier to see who is the weirdo doing this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the SPN Writing Challenge. The prompt was flip-flops.
> 
>    
>  _This hasn’t been beta’ed yet, but a very kind soul has agreed to do so, so hopefully I’ll get around to polishing this in the near future._
> 
>  
> 
> [Also, inspired by this fantastic picture here](http://damn-funny.tumblr.com/post/147758197255):  
> 

 

_Flip flop flip flop._

_Flip flop flip flop._

_Flip flop flip flop._

Like the day before and the day before that, Dean had just about silenced his alarm when he heard the telltale sound of open-toed rubber-soled sandals. The same sound he had heard upon waking for the last one and a half weeks.  
He got up, dressed and the coffee started, and when he left the house twenty minutes later, sure thing, there was the usual pair of flip-flops, attached to the banister of his terrace with a bicycle chain. While the bicycle chain was certainly a note-worthy element, the yellow-and-black stripes pattern together with the cartoonish bee-print on the straps was what had caught Dean’s attention in the first place. The chain… well, that one had him do an honest to god double-take when he’d first seen it. The rather conspicuous footwear had appeared last Monday morning, and every morning thereafter. When Dean had returned from work in the late afternoon, the sandals had been gone again. Over the weekend Dean did not have to get to up at six, and when he had gone outside for an early morning swim in the sea around eight-ish, the sandals had been nowhere to be seen. 

Dean thought that he should probably he annoyed that somebody was chaining their flip-flops to his banister, but the entire idea was so completely random that Dean was more intrigued than angry. He felt the peculiarity of it all getting to him more and more until he felt he absolutely had to know what the hell was behind all this. So, Dean did what everybody would do in his situation, got up half an hour earlier the next day despite having the day off thanks to a long weekend, and then sipped his coffee while peaking through the blinds of his back window. 

It was nice, this early, he thought; the mist on the water was just pulling back as the sun rose and bathed everything in a warm rose light. The Pacific lay peacefully before him, small waves gleaming in the sunrise, the sand on the beach still undisturbed. Dean had bought the little house outside town mainly because of the location - it was tucked away in one of the quieter bays together with a handful of other small houses, protected by two land tongues reaching into the sea, one hilly, one more rocks than anything else. Dean loved running along the shore whenever the weather wasn’t too bad and he had time in the evening.  These past few weeks the weather had been excellent, and the tourists swarming the little town where Dean taught had taken over the beaches. But this early in the morning, there was nobody to be seen. 

That was, nobody, until a figure appeared, walking down from the road. Dean’s house was the last one on the road before it led back inland towards the other houses a bit further up the hill, and then, further along, into town. The figure turned out to be a man, and, the closer he came, the more obvious it became that it was a handsome man. A very handsome man, Dean adjusted, shortly before adjusting himself. A very handsome man who was decked out in his swim gear - googles on his head, a towel slung around his shoulders, the novelty flip-flops on his feet. Dean swallowed. And very tight, black trunks. Oh boy. Dean watched the dark haired mystery man bend over and attach his flip-flops to his banister. Then he took off down towards the water, where he walked past a group of rocks and disappeared again from sight. 

Had it not been for the clearly visible eye-sore on his terrace, Dean would have thought that the entire experience had been a dream. Dean grinned. Getting up earlier had definitely been worth it. Now, how would he approach the stranger? Clearly, he was very hung up about his flip-flops… A mischievous grin spread across Dean’s face. He quickly went outside to see if his idea was doable. Dean mentally punched the air in triumph when he saw that yes, indeed, the wooden banister was one of those clever ones were it was possible to remove single bars in case of of them got damaged. With a house just about a hundred yards off the coast and the inclement weather that sometimes included, being able to replace single bars was an advantage. Right now, it allowed Dean to pull a prank. Sniggering, he carefully started twisting the protesting wood until the screws gave in and he could manoeuvre the bar to which Mr. Leaving-Little-To-The-Imagination had attached his sandals out from between the others. When he went back inside the house to hide the bar and the shoes, he was definitely not giggling.

Dean then resumed his waiting game, and as soon as he could see the dark mob of wet hair reappear behind the rocks about an hour later, he went outside, stood in front of his terrace and scowled. 

Dean could hear the steps coming closer before they slowed down and then stopped, abruptly. Dean turned around and bit his tongue. The beach towel was wrapped around the man’s shoulders and reached until his thighs, but what Dean could see of the man still glistened delightfully in the sun. He was flushed with exercise and Dean found himself flushing for entirely different reasons. His saving grace was that he was about to pretend to be very, very angry, so the red colour crawling up his neck at least worked out in his favour.

Dean pointed angrily at the banister and the empty spot in between the other bars.

“Somebody stole a bar of my banister!” he scowled. “Why the hell would anybody steal a _piece of wood_?!”

The man in front of him turned a bright scarlet and started fidgeting around.

“Um…” he said, staring at the empty spot. “I… I don’t know?”

“You wouldn’t have seen anybody around here, would you?” Dean asked.  
He had bright blue eyes and Dean kept glancing between them and the ocean to decide if the colour was similar.

“I’m afraid not,” he finally offered, not looking at Dean. The man removed his towel from his shoulders and tied it around his waist. Dean swallowed, harder than before. Pulling himself back into the game, he gave a world-weary sigh. 

“Now I’ll have to get a new one…” He looked at the man. _Smalltalk, Winchester, you’re trying to get to know the guy._ “I haven’t seen you around, are you on vacation?”

The man nodded. 

“Yes, I am. But my time here’s almost up, I’m going back home on Sunday.”

“Oh.” 

Now Dean was disappointed. There didn’t seem to be much chance in getting to know the guy then. The man was trying to covertly scan the area, obviously looking for something.

“Are you looking for something?” Dean asked innocently. 

“What?” The man’s eyes snapped up to Dean’s. The tips of Mr. Black Trunk’s ears turned red as well. “No, why wouldn’t I be? I’m not looking for anything. At all. I haven’t got anything to look for.”

His voice had gone from a deep rumbling to a choked bunny squeak. By now Dean was getting concerned for the man, what with the colour of his face making a rapid journey through the colour wheel towards lobster with sunburn. Dean’s eyebrows rose and he was about to say something, he didn’t know what, when the man sighed and crumbled in on himself. He didn’t seem to dare look Dean in the eye when he peeked up at him again.

“Um, actually…” Dean hadn’t thought that there could have possibly been any capacity left for blushing, but the man managed. He fidgeted around before visibly pulling himself together. “That… that might be my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“The… missing bar.”

“How could this possibly be your fault?” Dean frowned.

“I… um… I… might have attached my flip-flops to it.”

Dean only stared at the man. He was obviously praying to the ground to swallow him whole.

“Why the hell would you _chain_ your _flip-flops_ to my _banister_?!”

“They were a special present! From my niece! And the first day my other pair was stolen, or swept away or blown away or whatever, and then I had to look for ages before I found a second pair so she wouldn’t know they’re gone! And of course I’ll pay for the banister, for any repairs or replacements necessar-…” the man started rambling, faster and faster, eyes wide. Until he suddenly stopped and his eyes narrowed. “How do you know they were chained to your banister?”

 _Whoops_. Busted.

Dean couldn’t hold it in any longer and started he laughing. He clapped the man on his arm, shaking his head. The man looked at him wearily. 

“Got me,” Dean laughed. “It’s all good, man.”

“I fail to see how-…” the man huffed.

“I’ve got the bar and your flip-flops inside”, Dean grinned. “Sorry, man, I just had to, flip-flops chained to a wooden bar with a high security bicycle lock were just too good not to try and prank whoever did it.”

“A prank?” the man repeated, obviously unsure what to do with that information. 

Dean sighed. Funny as it had been, Dean doubted that he would be getting any phone numbers today. But well, if the man was only on vacation, then that ship had most likely already sailed long before now.

“Yeah, a prank, no harm done. Wait here, I’ll get your shoes.”

“Why would you try to prank somebody you don’t even know?” the man asked, curious. 

“Well, maybe I thought it would be a good way to get to talk to the hot guy in the tight black trunks with the cute smile,” Dean said over his shoulder, already walking up to his house.

“In that case, don’t you think that you ought to try to do something so that you can talk with him a little longer?”

Surprised Dean turned around. The other man smiled at him and Dean felt momentarily blinded. Apparently it was his turn to stare wide-eyed.

“Um…” he said eloquently.

After a moment the other man’s smile began to waver.

“Unless you… have changed your mind?” he asked, voice much more timid than just a minute ago.

“No! No! I… I haven’t,” Dean rushed to say. Now it seemed it was his turn to blush. “Um, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

The other man brightened. 

“I would love to”, he beamed.

Dean held out his hand.

“Well, hi then, I’m Dean.”

“Hello, Dean. I am Castiel.”

The other man shook his hand and Dean thought he could feel sparks dancing along where their hands touched. The way Castiel looked down and up again, maybe he could too. Maybe whatever had just sparked to life didn’t have to end with Castiel’s vacation. Dean hurried inside to set up a new pot of coffee, and Castiel followed him, still barefoot.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello to me on Tumblr at **delicious-irony.tumblr.com**! I tag all my writing with #delicious-irony writes.
> 
> I also have a small art blog, delicirony.tumblr.com \- my art tag is #delicirony. If you’d like to have a look, you can also find [my artsy stuff on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony).


End file.
